Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper: The Death of Mary
by Stormageddon92
Summary: John Watson comes home one night to find the body of his beloved wife. He then turns to the one man who can help him.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Body in the Bedroom.

I calmly walked down to the flat I use to share with my dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes, 221B. Nothing had changed from the outside and I was sure that nothing had changed on the inside either. He was very particular about change, and preferred it to stay the same. Mrs. Hudson did what she had to make sure it abided by his rules. I walked up the steps, very slowly at first and then changed into a rapid pace. I had a case for Sherlock.

It had been a few good months now since I had last visited my old friend. Marriage requires two people to put things in motion and I ended up busy with work and my marriage to Mary. In the past few months Mary and I had ended up having difficulties. You see, her parents ended up not being to overly fond of me when they found out about my old gambling ways and they convinced Mary that once you are an addict of any sort, you do so remain true to that addiction. We had tried to fix the marriage, but alas, it proved otherwise. She told me that she was very sorry to me, but that she had found someone else. That she was lost and wanted to end things with me to figure out where she should go from here, and if that choice led back to me, then it was destiny. I agreed, heartbroken, but considering what I could from here. I could dive into my work more as a doctor. Travel more. Work with Sherlock again on cases, like the old days. Mary had told me to except most her stuff gone when I arrived home and that she would be staying with her mother and father for some time, until she found a place of her own. I had expected just that when I arrived, but what I found instead was more than I had in store.

The door to the apartment was slightly left ajar, something Mary would have never done. I pushed it opened and saw the flat to be a mess. Bookshelves were knocked over; glass dishes were sprawled across the floor and shattered into dangerous little pieces, and then blood, too much blood to be from a little cut caused by the broken glass. I took my cane and knocked on the floor, hoping that if someone was in the flat somewhere they would say something. I waited and heard nothing. Slowly I walked around the corner heading into the kitchen, nothing. I walked to the bedroom that Mary and I had shared for a few years. That is where I had found her. On the bedroom floor she laid, not moving and completely lifeless. I dropped my cane and ran over to her, falling to the floor. She was cut all over her body, there were bruises from where her attacker grabbed, there was a slit across her throat and huge gashes leading down her body. Her stomach was cut open and her intestines were torn from her body. "Mary? Oh god, no. Do not do this." I whispered as I started to shake and cry. She had been gone for hours now, I could tell by how cold her body felt in my warm hands. I rang the police and in a matter of minutes they were at my doorstep. Inspector Lestrade was there first and he told me to calm down to explain what had happened. I told him all that I honestly knew and he believed me. However, there was the miserable fact of him telling her parents that she had been murdered in cold blood.

The police and Inspector closed off the flat where I and Mary had once shared love. I walked around looking for anything that I could find that would lead me to who did this to her and I did not see anything off hand. My detective and deducing skills were clearly not on par with those of Sherlock's. At that moment once I thought of him I knew that I must go to him. He always wanted a case to solve and work on, why not that of the person who use to be his best friend? I wandered out of the room and the building, making my way down to 221B.

I made my way to the door and stood for a few good moments. I had not seen him in what felt like years and I was curious on how he would take the news. Let us be quite honest, Mary and him never did get alone quite well. I gathered up all I had left in me and knocked on the door. Mrs. Hudson answered the door with a smile and greeted me with a hug. "Doctor Watson! It is ever so good to see you again. How are you? You look worn!" she went on. "Let me go get you and Sherlock some tea. You already know where he can be found." She closed the door behind me and went off to make the tea. I walked up to the room that I knew Sherlock would be in, his study area. I knocked upon the door excepting to wait until he answered, but from his study I heard "Come, come, Watson! No need to wait. You never did before, do not start now". I opened the door and in I walked. Nothing had changed from the last time I had seen Sherlock and in fact, it made me happy to see that. He was looking out of the window and blowing smoke from his pipe.

"God, how I have missed you." I told him. He glanced over at me and grinned.

"Well now, Watson. What do I owe this great pleasure?" He put his pipe down on the desk and walked over to his chair, motioning for me to sit in my old chair. As soon as I sat I started telling him what had happened, from her parents, to her wanting to divorce, to me coming home from work finding her body in the bedroom. His eyes changed from him being happy to see me, to him feeling very sorry for me. "Watson. I am very sorry to hear the news. I am assuming that you want me to find who did this?"

"You have assumed right, Holmes. I am incredibly sorry that my long awaited visit has had to come like this. I will pa-"I did not get to finish my sentence.

"Watson, do not say what you wish to say. I accept this case as long as I have the company of the good, old doctor."

"You will have me, Sherlock. I do wish to find the sick man who inflicted so much pain on not only me, but to the others who loved her."

"Then let us get started" he replied back to me, grabbing his coat and walking out of the room. I followed quickly behind him asking "Where are we going?"

"To your flat, I need to view the rooms as soon as I can."

We arrived at the flat and saw that Inspector Lestrade was still there, awaiting my return.

"Doctor Watson, I have stayed to inform you that Mary's parents have been informed of her murder. I do hope that Sherlock here can do something for you because her family believes that it was you who had committed this horrendous act." My heart sank upon hearing these words. I shot a quick glance at Sherlock who was already looking around for any clues that he could find.

"Lestrade, we both know very much that Watson here was not capable of murdering his wife. He loved her too dearly. It seems to me from what I have heard, that this case, matches up to the others of Jack the Ripper. Not Watson."

Lestrade nodded agreeing with Sherlock.

"I know that he didn't do this, Sherlock. Anyone who knows John will know that he did not do this. It is Mary's family I am worried about." He walked outside.

Sherlock was walking around examining the whole flat.

"She did put up a fight." He said. He spun and looked at the door. "Kicked in? Nothing has been stolen here, so not a robbery gone wrong, Watson. She was packing to leave you, I assume she did not expect any company, she must not have known the attacker. He had to have been watching her and you, for some time now." He walked into the bedroom. Glancing over to where I had discovered Mary's body, he gestured. "There." He said crouching to the ground. While there he picked up a piece of very fair hair and placed it on the night stand. Next he looked under the stand, taking out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and pulled out a bloody piece of a man's suit. "During the fight she fought back, there by ripping a piece of clothing off the attacker." He placed what he had found aside and in came Inspector Lestrade. He watched as Sherlock sat the article of clothing and piece of hair on the desk and came over to retrieve them. "Lestrade, I would like it if you were to put them somewhere where your men cannot lose them" said Sherlock as he slowly lifted himself off of the floor. "I must see the body."

Lestrade took us to the work room where Mary's body was being held. As we entered I took my hat off in respect. Sherlock walked straight over to the body and glanced down at her body. "Throat slit, to stop her from screaming. This, this right here looks like it was done by a surgeon. Bruises on her arm where the man grabbed her. All signs of the infamous Jack the Ripper."

"That cannot be possible." Lestrade said.

"It is most possible. She shows all the signs and the modus operandi is the same, except one thing and that is the status of class. " Sherlock looked over at me. "Watson . . . maybe you should go outside for some air."

"I am okay. I'll be okay." I replied, drawing my eyes to his. He stared back into mine and nodded. It was nice to be around him again and I realized that just as long as he was by my side, I would really be just fine. Sherlock walked over by me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

"Come Watson, let's go." And we left the building. "Let us go back to my place."


	2. The Woman of the Night

CHAPTER 2: The woman of the night

Jack the Ripper. One of the few names that if said out loud anywhere in or near London would spread fear amongst the crowds, especially among the women.

By train Whitechapel to London is around 20 minutes. All of Jack's victims where in Whitechapel, but because he was never caught by detective Edmund Reid or any of the forces; no one knew where he disappeared too. Rumors had it that he fled to America or that he had died somewhere in England. Neither of which were true, which people would soon realize. He was very much alive and somewhere in London city.

Sherlock located all the articles he could find on Jack the Ripper and swept through every little detail. He looked through pictures of the crimes he committed and read some of the letters that were sent to the police. After finishing one letter Sherlock looked up and said "In this letter sent a few days before the murder of your wife, he threatened to kill again." He looked back down and flipped through the letters. "All these letters seem to be written on a special kind of paper . . . I cannot seem to fathom what it is though." He passed the papers over to me and I could do nothing but agree.

"What do we do from here?"

"Well, Watson, I say we should go to the one woman who survived the horror that the Ripper causes."

Only one woman in London was known to survive the Ripper. Before he could do any further extensive damage to her a constable was out doing his rounds when he heard her scream. He flashed his light and Jack left her lying on the ground, very much alive, but still injured. Her name is Lana Oswald and she is 45 years of age. Lana was known in her younger years as being a dancer for the ballet but alas money problems stood in her way from ever getting close enough to accomplish her dreams to become known over the world. She stopped attending ballet classes and eventually settled down at the age of 20 with Robert Oswald, a very well-known merchant. A few months after their marriage the couple welcomed a baby girl named Carly. However, Robert was also well known for having a rather unfortunate gambling problem and being a notorious womanizer. Lana deiced that she had had enough and she left Robert, leaving her young daughter with him as well because he was more suitable than her for taking care of a child. With no one to turn to for help and no place to call her own, she sadly joined the women of the night. By day she found places to sleep at for a few shillings and at night she was out making the money to find a bed. It was on one of those nights that she ran into a rather charming man, although he had his face hidden. He told Lana that he did not wish to disclose his name because if word got out, he would be most certainly ruined. She told the man she understood, that most of her clients are people that if someone figured out what they did at night, they would be in trouble with spouses or even workplaces. To explore their sexual adventures and enjoy the trysts of the "Devils Work" at night with the demons disguised as women, out after everything you had. For many women who walked the streets at the night, they were set aside as the unfortunates, women who looked out for the thrill for the thrill, and enjoyed doing the devils deed, for sex was only meant for marriage and the need to procreate.

She did not bother after that with names and lead him down an alley way where there was no light and no way for anyone to see them on that cold evening night. As soon as he knew they were alone he walked behind her and had knocked her unconscious with the back of his knife. He laid her body on the cold ground and hovered over her. He took the knife in his hand and slowly carved two V's on each side of her face, a supposed calling card to the officers. Once he was finished with the v's he took the knife and slowly started to cut across her throat, enjoying it as the blood started to trickle down and onto the ground, soaking into the cracks. As he was about to go deeper into her raw, bloody flesh, he heard something. It was the sound of the man walking and coming ever so closer to where he was with his unfinished job. He knew that he could not finish and left her lying there in her own blood as he ran off just as the man turned the corner. The man walked closer until he tripped over her hand and as he glanced down to see her body, he screamed for the police to hurry. They took Lana to the nearest doctor's house and the police searched every inch of the alley way and possible exits. They did not find the man who did this, but they had the next best thing. The only woman ever to survive the Ripper and his deadly work, when she would awaken they would question her. Sadly for the officers and the inspectors, she did not have to awful much to say. He had not disclosed his name and his face was hidden not only by his coat, but also by the night. She refused to answer more of their questions and she left the safety of the station and returned to hide in the night.

Sherlock and I found her living at her sisters' place a few blocks down from Baker Street. Sherlock knew that she would be the only one home at this time of day and that it would be now or never to go to speak to her. We walked up the steps and knocked on the door of her residents. No one answered but Sherlock spotted Lana peeking from behind the curtains and closed them quickly. Sherlock was never one to take "no" for an answer and he knocked once more on the door.

"Whatever it is, I am not interested." She yelled from behind the door.

"We are not here selling anything, Ms. Lana Oswald. We are here on business. You see, I am a consulting detective and this here is my friend and partner Doctor John Watson. His wife was just murdered by the very same man that attempted to kill you a few months ago. Please now . ." He did not get to finish. She pulled the door open enough for us to come in.

"Do not get to comfy in here boys, you will be leaving shortly."

She walked us into the dining area and sat down, motioning for us to do the same.

"What is it that you want? If you are detective, you surely know what I told the cops. I know nothing."

Sherlock was staring at her intently and I was doing the same, however for different reasons. He was searching for the slightest reaction that could give off whether she was lying or telling the truth. I was looking at her features. Even though the scars remained from her horrendous experience, she was quite extraordinary. Her eyes were emerald green; her hair was to shoulders and a lovely black color, almost that of midnight; her lips were blood red and plump; and she had a lovely little face. She was not thin and yet she was not overweight, she had just the right amount to be a full figured woman. I wondered why her husband would have cheated on her in the first place, and wondered why it would have been so hard for her to find another place to stay while she was walking the streets at night. It made no sense to me; then again, Sherlock was the one who would have figured it all out in time.

"Did you see his face?" he broke the silence by asking.

"I told the inspectors no. I did not."

He watched as she told us this and he looked at me.

"She is telling the truth it appears." Looking back over at her he asked "Is there anything you can tell us about him that will help?"

She looked over at the window. It was growing dark outside and she watched as the sun started to set.

"He was about your height. Charming, very, very charming. From under his hat that he was wearing his hair was very fair. He wore a trench coat, it was black. Does that help?"

"A bit, thank you for your time." Sherlock said as he stood up walking to door. "Come Watson, we hit the streets."

"Thank you, Ms. Oswald." I told her while shaking her hand.

We left and as we reached a few blocks down Sherlock told me that was a waste of time.

"She obviously was telling the truth. He is good at hiding in the darkness, but we will find him."


	3. From Hell

Chapter 3: From Hell.

A few days after the murder of my wife, Inspector Lestrade and the whole lot of Scotland Yard received a letter with no return address except the words "From Hell" written on it. Lestrade opened it and immediately summoned for myself and Sherlock to come to Scotland Yard. Upon arriving we were escorted to where Lestrade was sitting and waiting for us. When we sat down he pushed us the letter and told us to read. Sherlock grabbed the letter and unfolded it as I observed the envelope.

"No return address." I said as Sherlock's eyes widened.

"When did you receive this?" he asked.

"This morning, the regular chap came and gave us the mail. No one knows where it was sent from."

Sherlock handed the letter over to me.

"Dear Boss,

How did you enjoy my last job? Quite a screamer she was, had to slash her throat before she got the neighbors or any of you coppers at her house. I think I did a pretty good on this one, pretty clever I am. Although it appears I am not clever enough, going after the wife of John H. Watson, "friend" of Sherlock. How did I not see that coming? Well Boss, this may just end up in the hands of both John and Sherlock I assume.

John, John, Johnny boy. What a shame you were not there to save your loving wife from my ravenous hands. The whore deserved it though if you ask me. You never knew how she spent her nights when you were out with Sherlock.

Sherlock, good luck trying to find me, if these dim-witted cops cannot find me, what on earth makes you believe you can?

Always,

Jack the Ripper"

At the very end of the letter after his signature were the words "CATCH ME IF YOU CAN", followed by what looked to be drops of dried up blood.

Sherlock looked over at me and then Lestrade.

"Thank you Lestrade. We are taking this letter with us."


	4. Late Nights

Chapter 4: Late nights.

Never in my life have I been so emotionally comprised by a case. Then again, none of the other cases have actually involved anyone close to me. The letter Sherlock kept had kept us awake for what seemed like days. Sherlock was obsessively looking the letter over trying to figure out the type of paper, what it was wrote in, and if those were blood droplets or red ink spills made to look like blood. Mrs. Hudson was ever so kind by bringing tea and scones for us to keep our energy up, she never did speak. She did not want to interrupt Sherlock's train of thought and she felt sorry for me. What she did not say in words, she said with her eyes. Sherlock carefully placed a piece of the paper under his microscope and started to look it over. He started with what appeared to be blood stains.

"Watson, these stains are not what we believe them to be." He paused, focusing in on the stains. "It appears to me that it is actually a type of red paint. As you can see . . ." he stood up and motioned for me to look through the microscope. "They are strokes from a paint brush. However, it will be almost improbable to tell what kind of brush was used."

I looked up at Sherlock and asked "Do you believe the killer is an artist then?"

"Possibly, but we cannot eliminate the other possibilities." He walked over to the desk and picked up some papers, walking back over he hand them to me. "There are more possibilities. There is Queen Victoria's grandson, a few local artists, a couple surgeons, and even butchers. We cannot just assume from the paint stains that it can be narrowed down to just the artists. Supplies for art are endless and almost everyone can get them. We must tread through this very carefully, my dear Watson."

I nodded in agreement. One simple mistake caused by us and it could ruin someone's life and let the real killer get away to ruin more lives.

"I do understand, Holmes. How are we to look and find the correct man?"

"We will search and eliminate."


	5. Scotland Yard

Chapter 5: Scotland Yard

A few days have passed since Mary's murder and we are still on the search for Jack. It has been quite hard to look for him because he disappears as fast as he comes and he hardly ever leaves any clues behind. Scotland Yard and Lestrade have not heard a word from the Ripper since he sent that last letter. However, this has proved most unfortunate for me. Mary's parents last heard that a doctor could have been involved in her death and they believed that I was the doctor they were talking about. There was a sudden knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson called out that she would answer the door. After she did, she walked into the room Sherlock and I were using to solve the case.

Before she began to talk I knew that it would not be good news, she had a look of panic written on her face.

"Mr. Watson . . . it is Inspector Lestrade here to see you."

Lestrade followed in with a few of his constables and took his hat off.

"John, it is very unfortunate that I must do this and I do apologise ahead of time. Mary's mother and father have requested that you are placed in the custody of Scotland Yard until Mary's demise is figured out." He looked down and then back up at me. "I am sorry."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing at that time and stared at Lestrade intensely. "Lestrade that is the most asinine statement I have possibly ever heard come out of your mouth. Watson here would never lay a hand on her or any woman in a foul matter, let alone brutally murder the woman he loved dearly. Besides, they should know that their daughter's death was caused by Jack, not John. The pictures from the other murders clearly match up with Mary's and I can tell you for a fact that John is not the monster they wish him to be."

Lestrade made direct eye contact with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I can most assure you that I know that already along with half of London that John here is not the murderer. However, we must abide by Mary's parents' wishes for the time being." Lestrade walked over and stood by John. "Come on John, we must be going now. Sherlock . . . We will talk later." And we left for Scotland Yard.

While we were on the way Lestrade made sure that he sat close enough for me to hear him speak, but far enough away to make sure that no one heard what he was about to tell me. "Do you remember the case where Sherlock had to find and recapture Lord Blackwood? Do not speak, just nod."

I nodded. The case where I pronounced him dead and he had in fact survived by taking tetrodotoxin to give off the presence of death.

"As you well know while I handcuffed Holmes before he presented himself to Lord Blackwood's followers, I slipped him the key to the cuffs. I am going to do the same for you once we are in your cell at the Yard. You must go, you and Sherlock need to find this sick man and stop these heinous acts. Scotland Yard has tried more than once to find him and we just do not have the knowledge or skills or even the power to stop him."

I nodded again to let him know that I understood what he was saying. Sherlock and him knew that Mary's parents' would not let this go by without pointing their fingers at me and trying their hardest to get me locked away, so they made a plan of my escape.

Hours after being placed in a cell I found where Lestrade placed the key to the cell door. I picked it up and hid it in my coat pocket for easy access for when I heard the signal to leave. I waited patiently and about 5 hours later Lestrade and his men walked past the cell. Without the others noticing Lestrade did a small wave of his hand telling me it was my time to act and I did.

When they passed I looked around the corner to make sure they were gone and when I did not see them I made my move. I slipped the key out from inside my pocket and unlocked the door, holding it tightly inside my hand so that it would not squeal and alert anyone of what I was doing. Slowly but surely I started for the stairs and walked up it as fast as my leg would let me. I made my way past the doors and left through the exit. Looking both ways I did not see a soul and I left the premises.

A few blocks down there was a lone stagecoach and Sherlock was standing outside of it waiting for you.

"Glad to see Lestrade did not mess this up." Sherlock said with a smirk.

"As am I, mainly glad I got out of there without getting caught."

We glanced around and climbed into the stagecoach. It started to move and I asked where our destination is. One of the drivers of the coach turned around and a familiar face did appear.

"Why Watson, you and Sherlock are going to stay with me until this is all cleared up. You will have space to work and it will be safe there for you." Mycroft said with a grin.


	6. Jack the Ripper

Chapter 6: Mycroft.

It seemed that it took forever to reach Mycroft's home. He was right; no one would be able to find us here because the house was very well hidden.

"Please enjoy your stay as always." Mycroft told us. "If you find that there is something you need to help aid you in this search, just ask and I will send someone for it." He smiled and walked off.

"Thank you, Sherlock." I said as I placed the bag he had packed for me on the bed. "For everything."

"Do not thank me just yet, Watson. The game is still afoot."

He left the room and went to the den where he stayed that whole night. The next day I asked him if he had slept at all that night and he told me that he did not.

"I was up reviewing papers, photos and clues. He always goes for middle-aged women who have been having bad luck . . . which means that our chances of finding him are going to be in the slums of London and Whitechapel, where he has to live close by. We will have to the check each area inch by inch, be out at night and in the early morning. Those are the times he appears to come out more at. Less people are out and he is less likely to be interrupted." He glanced over at the clock. "Let us go. It's getting dark out."

We walked in the night viewing the activities of the dark. This was a whole new experience for me and I was unsure of what to suspect. Sherlock's eyes where bouncing around from one spot to another, taking in the information and analyzing it, working everything out in his head.

"See anything?" I asked.

He did not say anything but pointed to the alleyway. A very voluptuous woman around her late 40's with a man who was wearing a trench coat and the collar flipped up to help block his face from others, but not the women he took in. They were walking down into the alleyway and the darkness swallowed them whole. Sherlock started to race towards the alleyway and I followed. From somewhere in the dark a scream was heard and we ran even faster following the scream. We found her, but Jack was gone and it was already too late. Her throat had been slit. Sherlock alerted the constables and we left her in their hands.

"Watson, he heard us coming and finished her fast. I can guarantee you that he is not satisfied and is out searching for his next victim." He looked around his surroundings. "This way."

We walked for what seemed like hours until we reached a slightly less busy section with a few prostitutes.

"Hello there, love. Would you and your friend here like to spend some time with me?" A woman asked coming from behind us. She in her early 40's and a little on the plump side, she looked as though when she was younger she would have been quite the beautiful woman, but time and hardships took its toll on her.

"No, thank you." I told her. "We are not interested."

She shrugged and moved on down the street. Sherlock slowly followed behind and I followed him. The woman stopped walking when a man who matched our descriptions earlier approached her. We watched them interact and they walked off towards a building that closed down a few months ago. Sherlock and I followed closely behind them as they entered into the building. Slowly, making sure that we were being very quiet we entered. Sherlock's eyes however, dropped to the floor where a white piece of paper rested. He bent over, picked it up and unfolded the letter. It read:

"Dear Sherlock Holmes and DOCTOR John Watson,

No one has ever got this close to me. Never thought those fools or anyone for that matter would get to me. You stupid, stupid men. I will kill the woman you see me taking if you even come close. And I will kill again just to torment you on how it will all be your fault that you never caught me. To prove that you are just as arrogant as those fools who wear a badge.

Catch me if you can.

JACK THE RIPPER"

"Let us go ahead." Sherlock told me folding the letter and placing it inside his pocket. We started to walk forward when Sherlock noticed tiny blood droplets on the floor and started to follow where they led. We walked down a few corridors until they stopped outside a door numbered 222A.

"It appears that he believes he is funny." He pushed opened the door and we walked in slowly. The room was dark and we were unsure of where to walk. There was a noise in the left hand corner of the room and we made our way towards that section of the room until I tripped over something.

"Watson?" Sherlock whispered. "Are you alright?"

"I am okay. I just wish I could see what I tripped over." I got on my knees and felt around. What I felt made my heart drop. My hands were wet, so where my pants from where I fell. I felt hair, legs, and hands. "Sherlock . . . She is dead."

"Then that means we are close by." I felt his hand touch my shoulder. "Give me your hand, John." I did and he helped me stand.

"Thank you." We stepped over the body and made our way left. It was there that we saw the faintest light appear from within the room.

"Over there." He whispered to me. I walked one way and Sherlock the other as we came closer to where the light was coming from. Inside the room stood the man we were searching for. He stood in the corner of the room watching us; he stared at us both before speaking.

"I told you to LEAVE." He bellowed. "Why could you not have been as stupid and as useless as those police officers?" he stepped forward. Sherlock placed his hand in front of me.

"Watson, no." he whispered telling me to not go forward.

"Watson?" Jack whispered with a chuckle. "Doctor John Watson. Husband of the newly deceased Mary." He grinned. "God, she screamed so loud. She screamed for you moments before I slit her throat and watched her die. Her blood was so very sweet. But, like the others, she was a whore."

John's blood began to boil as Jack kept talking. He had to deal with psychopaths before when he was in the army and Jack had now placed the number one spot in his mind.

"You do not call her names, EVER. She was my wife you sick, twisted man!" John stepped forward towards Jack. Sherlock stepped up behind him.

"John, listen to me." Sherlock said.

"No, Sherlock."

"Yes, listen to Sherlock, John." Jack replied to what Sherlock had said. "You know those nights you and your wife fought and you left home to go be alone? She wasn't. She was enjoying the company of another. Me. It was such a shame that I had to kill her, truly it was. She went through my belongings and found my knife along with a few other trinkets from the other woman. She was planning to tell you. Shame she didn't, huh?" He walked closer to John. "I guess in the end . . . we all get what we deserve?" With a lunge he jumped forward and grabbed John, pulling him against him. In just a few seconds he pulled the knife to John's neck. "Any last words, Doctor? I will make sure you see your whore wife again." He dug the knife deeper into my neck and I felt the warm blood slowly trickle down. I looked over at Sherlock who despite his stoic stature looked worried. He made direct eye contact with me.

Jack was getting inpatient. "Any last words, John? Yes or no?" he dug the knife even deeper. "You are a doctor. You know how much deeper I have to go before I hit your artery and you bleed out like a cow at slaughter."

I never dropped eye contact with Sherlock who by this time had his gun pulled and pointed at Jack and myself.

"I do not have any last words except, thank you Sherlock." I closed my eyes so that the last person I would see before my death would be that of Sherlock Holmes. Just as I felt the knife start to slide across my throat I heard a gunshot and the weight of Jack drop off of me. The loud thud of Jack hitting the floor and the sound of the metal knife bouncing off of the floor before it rested near his hand. I opened my eyes and saw that Sherlock was right in front of me wrapping my neck with his scarf to apply pressure. He then got down on the floor by Jack taking the knife and motioning for me to check his pulse.

"He is alive, but his heart rate is very slow." I informed him.

"Good, we need him alive. You stay here while I go get Lestrade."

Lestrade arrived shortly with some of his men to collect Jack and take him to the cells. Two doctors where there awaiting both Jack and myself. They were able to stabilize Jack and in a matter of hours he was awake. They questioned him non-stop about the murders of Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, Mary Jane Kelly, Mary Watson and the two other women who remained unnamed. The only words he would speak were "They deserved to die. They were nothing but diseased ridden rats."

He was sentenced to death shortly after by hanging. Sherlock and I appeared to view the hanging of the monstrous killer. I was the doctor present to make sure he was dead before burial. When I pronounced it, it was then that the women of London and Whitechapel felt safe again to do as they pleased on the streets.

Thankfully after the public found out about the truth of Mary, the news reached her parents. Lestrade was one of the first people to tell them that I had not created the heinous murder and that the real truth of the matter was that it was Jack the Ripper. At first they were blindsided, but finally accepted the fact and apologised to me through mail.

"John Watson, We do so apologise for blaming the death of our beloved daughter on you. We hope you will accept this apology and that we can continue talking in a reasonable matter. Thank you."


	7. The Aftermath

Chapter 7: The Aftermath.

After Jack was pronounced dead everything went back to normal for the people of London. However, for myself, it was a bit more difficult than that. Instead of living where Mary and I had shared a life, I moved back in with my closest and dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes in the house that started it all.

"It's a new start." Sherlock said as he walked up to me handing me a cup of tea. "Mrs. Hudson and I are ecstatic to have you home again." He smiled slightly as Mrs. Hudson walked in. "Nanny."

She smiled brightly at both Sherlock and I. "He is right, Doctor Watson. You and Gladstone are welcome here anytime. You are such a joy and you keep Sherlock here out of all the trouble he could get into."

"Not true, nanny." He replied in a sarcastic tone as he went and sat down. The newspaper was sitting right next to him and he picked it to read it. I smiled at Mrs. Hudson as I walked to my old chair sitting down in it.

"Anything good, Holmes?"

"Hmm . . . all appear to be quite boring."

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson went to get it. A young man of about 25 was standing there and holding out a letter.

"This is for Sherlock Holmes." He pushed the letter into her hand, ran off the steps and down the street.

"Who was that?" I asked walking out to look. Mrs. Hudson handed me the letter.

"Whoever it was said that was to go to Sherlock." He was still sitting in the other room until he heard his name and came out. Coming up from behind me he took the letter and opened it. A few minutes after reading he told me that he had to go to his study and he was gone. I followed him in and shut the door.

"Sherlock, what the hell was that? You have Mrs. Hudson scared now."

He glanced down at the letter and threw it over to me.

"John . . . it is not her who should be scared. It is you."

I picked the letter up and read it.  
"This cannot be . . ." I looked at who signed the letter. In very neat handing was the name "Professor James Moriarty". I looked at Sherlock. "I thought he was dead . . . when I saw you and him at Reichenbach Falls, I thought you both dead."

"I thought he was too, Watson. However, you must remember that no bodies were found. How could I have been so mistaken? I cannot risk you; we must find you somewhere safe to go."

"Sherlock" I said. He did not look at me. "Sherlock, I refuse to go somewhere safe. I do not care what this letter says. We will figure this out together like we have in the past. Do you understand me?"

He turned and looked me in the eyes. I could feel that he was nervous, but he would not let it show. "If you insist, doctor."

"I do so insist, Holmes. We are in this together."

THE END?


End file.
